Dance Dance Regret
by MooseOnARoof
Summary: Minor spoliers for 6x15 'Private Lives' This is silly, and caused by the amusing revelation that Wilson's plays on Dance Dance Revolution. Wilson comes home with a black eye. House wants to get to the bottom of it.


_**Minor spoliers for 6x15 'Private Lives' **This is silly, and caused by the amusing revelation that Wilson's plays on Dance Dance Revolution. _**Wilson comes home with a black eye. House wants to get to the bottom of it_._**

**_Disclaimer: _I don't own them. A shame, as then I could buy some new jeans.**

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Trying to bypass House without him noticing is almost as impossible as trying to walk through a bear pit, in a meat suit, without being mauled.

But Wilson is the king of cautious, misplaced optimism.

He drops his sodden briefcase to the side as he slides in through the door. Another batch of paperwork ruined as the rain made light work of the flimsy material. House still hasn't clocked his presence yet, his eyes still firmly fixed onto whatever shoddy Steven Seagal movie was playing out on screen. Wilson coaxes off his coat, almost tangling his arm in the soggy sleeves as he curls it from his back and dumps it on the floor next to his briefcase.

It'll be fine for the morning he thinks. If he gave a shit he would have hung it up and let dry. But tonight, he's happy to just let it stagnate.

He pulls his hand to his face and gently presses the side of his nose. The pain was giving him a headache and he was sure he could feel the flesh rising beneath his fingers. Old instincts would tell him to call House over and jones a Vicodin to take the edge off, but that was no longer an option. He'd have to make do with the less powerful, over-the-counter cousin, which was stashed in the bathroom cabinet beneath spare toilet paper and spools of dental floss.

To get past House would take some doing. There was no way Wilson could get past him without flitting through his line of vision and if you flitted through House's line of vision you were a helpless, flailing lamb to the probing, sarcastic slaughter.

He felt ridiculous, like some sort of bumbling agent on a secret mission, pressing his back against the wall, sliding his way towards the bathroom, and praying that whatever Steven Seagal was doing was far more entertaining than what he was doing, because, at this moment in time, he didn't feel talking and making poorly executed excuses as to why he had gained himself a black eye. Though, when he saw House fumble for the remote, his mind suddenly went into overdrive, casting off reams of reasons for him to decide on.

The hooker angle wouldn't work. Wrong time of day and wrong type of hooker. Sadism wasn't really his thing. The aggrieved patient or family member angle wouldn't work either. He'd only worked a half day, most of which had been spent on paperwork, budget forms and staff meetings. He could always use the klutz angle as, despite his inherent sporting ability, his coordination had always been a little off, and House had seen him walk into enough doors and trip over enough rugs and steps to make it plausible. Yeah, that would work.

Now he had to decide what he fell over or walked into or hit himself with. A door might work? His desk perhaps? Or maybe--

"Wilson?"

He'd been spotted. The application to the CIA could wait another year. "Hey." His attempt at masking the discomfort in his voice was almost as feeble as his attempt to mask the discomfort in his body language. "I...um...have to go to the...um...bathroom." He stays in the shadows as he paced towards the bathroom, hoping somehow he would blend into the darkness and House would lose track of him. The fact that he was wearing a white shirt didn't even cross his mind.

Inevitably, House follows with his usual staggered gait and rhythmical thump of the cane. "Locking yourself in the bathroom? How very teenage girl of you. Did Cindy steal your curlers or has little Ashleigh called you fat again?"

Wilson wasn't quite in Elephant Man territory yet but the more he looked in the mirror the more the swelling seemed to jump out from his reflection. He grabs a couple of Ibruprofen from the cabinet behind the mirror and cups a handful of water from the sink to wash them down. House was still babbling something from behind the door but the sound of water gushing from the tap drowned most of it out bar the odd syllable. He clasps the sides of the sink hard with his hands and drops his head.

Maybe if he stayed in here long enough House would go away.

Or maybe there was more of a chance that Hell would freeze over.

Wilson was going with the Hell thing. And his theory seems to have a basis of truth as House continued his assault via cane on the bathroom door. "Go away." He wonders whether House's brain flashes DOES NOT COMPUTE whenever that phrase passes his ears because he never takes heed, and he sure as hell doesn't seem to understand the meaning. A thud echoed behind the door followed by a jiggle of the doorknob.

"I need to pee Wilson."

"Use your own bathroom. There's a reason this place has two bathrooms." The first blush of a serious headache seeps in behind his eyes.

"What? So you could avoid me completely? Well that's nice. I was gonna let you watch the last half of Under Siege with me but now you've hurt my feelings."

"House!" Well now Wilson had given himself little choice. A flare of the temper, a raise of the voice, always piqued House's curiosity. But he couldn't come clean about this because, well, it was just embarrassing. "I have a headache and you're not helping."

"If you'd had a headache you wouldn't have purposely avoided me like the plague."

"I would if I didn't want to make my headache any worse!"

"Well that's crappy logic because you know that I would be curious as to why you wanted to avoid me, so I would stalk you to find out or annoy you until you gave in. So really you trying to avoid me has just made your entire situation worse."

"But if I had managed to avoid you then you wouldn't have known that I was purposely trying to avoid you." Why was he arguing? How did House always manage to suck him into these pointless exchanges of logic?

"Not necessarily. I could have pretended-"

Wilson pulls the door open with a sharp tug, eager to end the conversation before his own brain scrambled itself. "Please...just stop." He could see House's stare flit up and down before homing in on his face, the blue eyes twitching and widening after registering the swelling on Wilson's left side.

"So where did you get that beauty?"

Time for his not so carefully prepared excuse. "I walked into a door." Wilson knows that this was possibly the most pathetic excuse known to man, second only to "she fell on my dick", but it was worth a shot. Though, he is sure House will not fall for this in any way, shape or form.

"The door excuse was the best you could manage?"

"You've got me." He turns and flicks the taps off before, once again, checking his reflection. "A patient's mom punched me."

"Next."

"What? She did. She had a mean right hook."

"You are a terrible liar when you don't commit, Wilson."

"Chase punched me. He thought it was my turn to be on the receiving end of one of his punches since he's making his way through medical staff. I think Foreman's next."

House prods Wilson, prompting the younger man to turn his head. "Is it really that embarrassing?"

"No."

"So it was seriously embarrassing then?"

"Can't you just-"

"No."

Wilson sighs and throws his hands up, palms open; his very own version of the white flag of surrender. "Fine. Somebody punched me in the face okay? That's it. That's all there is to it."

"Who?"

"Someone." Wilson slipped past House and wandered towards the kitchen. A strong cup of coffee with extra lashings of sugar was sorely needed. "It doesn't matter. It's fine. It's good. I'm not dying. So just...leave it."

House had followed Wilson's trail, and now leaned heavily on the door of the refrigerator. "A girl?"

Wilson couldn't really hide his frustration as he flung a couple of teaspoons of sugar into the bottom of the mug.

"It was a girl wasn't it?"

"So what if it was a girl? Girls can punch too you know." In went the bubbling hot water, followed by a few aggressive stirs with the spoon. House hadn't budged; he was still leaning on the refrigerator with a highly amused look on his face.

"What did the kindly Doctor Wilson do to deserve such physical punishment? I did warn you that you had to pay the hookers properly for services rendered."

"House, it's seven thirty in the evening. At what point would I have used a hooker?" He dumps the spoon into the sink and pads towards the hideous orange couch. "Unlike you I don't invite them to my office during work hours."

"Single men get lonely during all times of the day. Not just the evening." House pushes the remote from the seat and slouches down onto the leather. "And you're right. It's seven thirty and you've had a half day. So where the hell have you been since you got off work?"

"Just...you know...around. The bank, the grocery store, the mall."

"You didn't have any bags with you."

"I didn't buy anything. What is this? An interrogation?" Wilson settles the mug onto the table. "It is possible for people to go to the mall and not buy things."

"Well you obviously went to the mall with the intention to buy something so what turned you off course?"

"You know what, I'm really not in the mood."

"And judging by your crabby demeanour I am guessing you're exhausted."

"Or maybe I'm just annoyed with this wildly entertaining game of Twenty Questions we have going on here."

"And your sarcasm means you're defensive. Which means it's something you don't want me knowing. Which means it's embarrassing. So what is in the mall, that you would do that is so embarrassing you wouldn't want to tell me and would cause somebody, a GIRL, to punch you in the face?"

The only reaction Wilson could muster was a well worn roll of the eyes. "Are you intentionally drawing this out as long as possible?"

"Duh! That's where the fun is." House gleefully rubs his hands together.

"You're a pain in the ass." Wilson fixed himself another cup of coffee while House churned out the ideas. A pedicure, walking into the women's bathroom or changing rooms, a date enquiry gone wrong were all way off the mark.

"You're not cross dressing now are you?"

"Why would somebody punch me for buying a dress?"

"Maybe they were jealous that you were hotter than she was. I can imagine you carrying off a dress pretty well."

Wilson's eyebrows knitted together. "Thanks?...I think."

"Oh Wilson, tell me. Otherwise I will definitely spread a cross dressing rumour, then you'll be 'James Wilson M.D. Oncologist magician, notorious ex-porn star, cross dressing extraordinare'."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I? Really?"

This porn star thing was proving hard enough to shake off, adding another rumour to the mill wasn't going to help anyone, him especially. Wilson grabs a cookie from the cupboard and stuffs it in his mouth. A little bit of a sugar rush would make this process less painful. "She was 17."

"Oh no you didn't?"

"NO! I was at the mall...um...I wanted to buy some shoes." Swallow the embarrassment, James. "And there's that bowling alley thing...you know..." House nods. "And um...there was some people playing DDR next to the entrance...and I just watched. I mean this girl was really good, she hit all the steps, all with the beat, everything. Then one of her friends bet me fifteen dollars that I couldn't beat her so... you know I took her up on the challenge."

"And..."

"I won."

"And..."

"So...they said I cheated and I was putting her off. And I wasn't, I swear. I worked my ass off. They wouldn't give me the fifteen dollars so I asked politely for it, and then she just hit me in the face."

"What a bitch." House began chuckling, trying in a series of vain attempts to press his lips together to quell the escaping laughter.

"Well thanks for your understanding."

"You got beat up by a teenage girl because of a dance machine. Do you really expect me not to laugh?"

Wilson sighs. "I-I...I'm an idiot."

"Hardly a newsflash but yeah, you are." House pats a hand onto the seat. "Sit down. Your constant pacing and wild hands are making me dizzy."

Wilson obliged and threw himself into the day-glo orange mess, his hands instinctively pulling to his face to cover his blushing cheeks. "Ow."

House smirked. "Maybe you should stick to dancing in private from now on."


End file.
